


A Game of Deuces

by agent_izhyper



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: AU, Adventure, BAMF!John, Criminal!Sherlock, Suspense, crim mastermind Moriarty wants Sherlock to work with him, kicks ass, mentions of drug use, so they could rule the criminal underworld, though it might be more accurate to call him a vigilante type
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-17
Updated: 2013-08-17
Packaged: 2017-12-23 19:20:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/930149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agent_izhyper/pseuds/agent_izhyper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>“Sherlock Holmes.” The name rolled off his lips with an air of revered respect. “Oh, the things I’ve heard about you.”</em>
</p>
<p>  <em>Sherlock tipped his head to the side slightly. “Oh?” His eyes stayed steady on the man’s face, catching every detail.</em></p>
<p>  <em>He nodded, a twisted grin stretching his lips. “Handy, bein’ a cabbie. Hear all sorts of things.” He chuckled. “Holmes. That’s a name everyone knows. And he's got every criminal in London keepin' a lookout on you, I'll tell you that." </em></p>
<p>(Teaser preview of first chapter for now.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Game of Deuces

**Author's Note:**

> This is a fic that's always at the back of my mind, though I've left it for a while only to return to my criminal!Sherlock plot bunnies with enthusiasm recently (probably because I watched Stark Trek Into Darkness and _ohmygod_ evil Benedict Cumberbatch _that was too amazing_ excuse me while I die) so... I thought I'd post up what I have of the beginning so far. I'm planning on each chapter being quite long, though, so this is only the beginning of chapter one.  
>  Would love to hear your thoughts, anyhow. :)  
> Cheers~

**I. THE DEADEND ALLEY**

_  
_ Excerpt from the blog of Doctor John H. Watson:

_I’m not sure what exactly to write, though I do want to write about it. I just keep thinking back to the talk I had with Ella. She wanted me to keep this blog so it could help me and I told her –_ “Nothing happens to me” _– what did she expect me to write about?_

_Those four words were true. So very, very true. After what feels like a lifetime at war the monotony of a semi-regular doctor’s job is... so completely_ normal _. In the months I’ve been detained, the most exciting days I’d had were all in the short while I was staying with my sister. And I don’t mean exciting in a good way._

_So, yes, nothing ever happened to me. Nothing worth noting, nothing more than your average everyday man. And it might have stayed like that, I don’t know. I don’t think I ever will, really. My life might just have continued on in the way it had been going if it wasn’t for the other night._

_It’s funny – I just wonder, if I hadn’t decided to walk home that night, or if I hadn’t taken that particular route, or if I hadn’t stopped to investigate what I’d heard in a lonely dark alley down a quiet empty street in London and just kept walking like any sensible man would’ve... Well, I wouldn’t be sitting here trying to explain my situation, would I?_

_And I certainly wouldn’t have clear cause to take back those four words which are not quite so true at the moment. Because something did happen, and I’m not entirely sure I know_ what  _just yet..._

* * *

It was a cold night, but not unusually so. Definitely cold enough that the streets were nearly devoid of any single person, as everyone instead piled into cabs to escape the chilling air.

One, however, had opted out of the usual stifling mode of transport. Sometimes the routine was suffocating, and his life seemed to be a never-ending cycle of cab ride after cab ride, broken only by other routines as patients filled his days and silence surrounded his flat at night.

John Watson was not a man often prone to dreary moods, but even he had to admit that he could not keep this up. Though the stability was a nice comfort, it would not do much in way of filling his life as his therapist no doubt wholeheartedly assumed it would.

John heaved a sigh and tried to shake some feeling into his cold fingers around the strap of his medical bag. His steps were almost loud in the street, every second step accompanied by a dull  _thunk_  as his cane struck the pavement of the small quiet road only a corner away from his flat. He didn’t walk home often or this late but something about the stillness, the sounds of cars and life behind him, was soothing.

That is, until something shifted. He stopped walking and tensed unconsciously, the hair at the back of his neck rising in an all-too-familiar feeling. In the space of a heartbeat, he was no longer quiet, peaceful Doctor John Watson. No; the stiff and straight posture, square shoulders, feet spaced evenly apart, the look of intense wariness that overcame his features – it was as familiar as anything, and suddenly he was Captain Watson again, soldier and medic, locating the source of distress.

It didn’t take more than a moment. He was striding confidently yet cautiously to a shaded alleyway, drawn by what his trained ears recognised as sharp pained breaths. It also didn’t take long to identify the source, and with the bright light shining through the narrow opening from the street ahead, he could make out the shape of the slumped man against the wall. He looked as if he’d sat there a while ago and not bothered to get up since and John could tell he was trembling. Long legs splayed out in front of him, equally long arms seemed to be trying to wrap around his middle in some sort of protection – though whether against the cold or against unwanted people, John didn’t know – and his head lolled back against the brick wall. John could only just make out the unruly curls sitting atop a pale slender face when another quiet sound of distress or pain jolted him into action.

He was beside the man in an instant, automatically noting the dazed look in the half-closed eyes, the shiny pallor of sweat that matted the curls to his face, the short quick breaths that were just short of gasps, and knew what he would find before he even reached out to take the man’s pulse. Sure enough, once practiced fingers located the jumping artery in the long pale neck, the pulse was much faster than anything near healthy. And all that was without even accounting for the tremors that shook the thin body, too intense to be shivers warding off the cold.

John cursed softly as he realised the problem, though he couldn’t be sure without a proper diagnosis. However, as he moved closer to try figuring out if it was safe to move him, his hand nudged something cold on the floor and he glanced down. A frown adorned his face at the empty needle that rolled away and he nodded once to himself.  _Drugs_. And a little bit more than the man’s body could handle, by the looks of it.

Then he hesitated. He had enough supplies at home to help the man – regretfully, nothing currently on him that he could administer without fearing any side-effects, especially as he didn’t know what kinds of drugs were in the man’s bloodstream at the moment. But, even if he was a doctor (and a bloody good one, at that), the man might need a hospital. John quickly swept a critical eye over him. He had clearly been living off the streets for a while; John had seen enough of London’s homeless, and even helped a few, to know one from up close. Yet his long black coat was very obvious in its fine make but looked well-worn enough that John guessed it had been in the man’s possession for a few years, which was unusual for any homeless person. He was also very thin – probably much thinner than he would normally be if he’d been using for long, though if he had he would surely know what was a safe amount to take... unless he did, and merely didn’t care.

John shook the thought away and not only because the idea of someone taking their life like that ignited some deep doctor’s spark inside him. Surely if the man had intended to do so, he would have done it properly.

And before he’d even realised he had decided, John found himself stoically supporting the unresponsive man as he stood, only after thoroughly checking him for injuries he should be wary of, and handling his cane and med bag as well. The man was quite taller than he’d anticipated but his lanky frame made him easier to handle, and besides, John had carried many injured men out of the open in Afghanistan and those were almost always limp and slick with blood. At least this man was slightly responsive – well, not a complete dead-weight, in any case, though his mind was most definitely not with him. It was a shame. John would have preferred having a name to link to the pale stranger. He continued on down the street, mindful of the mess of gangly limbs he was supporting. Something about the man’s stature made John think that, were he conscious and in full control of his body, he would move with a gracefulness belied by the almost awkward muddle he was at the moment.

After what seemed like an age, John turned into his street and approached the somewhat grim apartments he could just afford on an army pension. There was a brief mix-up as he had to juggle the man, his cane, and med kit in one hand in order to reach into his pocket and pull out his key. Eventually, though, he was heading up the stairs to the first landing, mindful of not disturbing his landlord or the often-moody old man next door.

Once he had managed to haul his human package into the living room and deposited him on the long couch, John straightened and surveyed the man under the clearer light of his flat. He ignored the twinge in his left shoulder after the unexpected exercise in favour of diagnosing what he could and treating his patient. The shivers wracking through the lean, pale body hadn’t ceased, and the short stuttering breaths had only worsened.

His lips set into a thin line, John quickly drew up a mental list of what he’d need to get from his supplies before leaning over the stranger.

“Right, let’s see what we can do for you, hey?” he breathed.

God, but it was going to be a long night. 


End file.
